


Natural Disasters

by ryfkah



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Baking, Collection: Purimgifts Day 1, Disasters, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-12
Updated: 2014-03-12
Packaged: 2018-01-15 12:23:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1304776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ryfkah/pseuds/ryfkah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is NOT going to be like Thanksgiving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Natural Disasters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aphrodite_mine](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphrodite_mine/gifts).



“This is NOT going to be like Thanksgiving,” said Amy.

Rosa leaned against the counter of the precinct kitchen and smirked like a Cheshire cat that had just discovered punk rock. 

“Sixty-seven people have rated this recipe five stars on food dot com,” said Amy, “and I am going to follow all of the directions _exactly._ ” 

“Sure you are,” said Rosa.

“And these hamantaschen,” said Amy, “are going to make Peralta burst into _tears_.”

“One way or another that's probably true,” said Rosa.

“...of EMOTIONAL CATHARSIS,” continued Amy, loudly, “because of their CULTURAL ACCURACY and DELICIOUS PERFECTION.”

“Uh-huh,” said Rosa. 

Amy tried to redouble on the glare, and, when Rosa's grin only widened, gave up. “Well, if you're going to stand there anyway, you can make yourself useful --” She chucked a wooden spoon at Rosa, who caught it on reflex, and then looked at it in some bemusement. “-- and stir the dough while I check on the jam situation.”

“Uh-uh,” said Rosa, and tossed the spoon back. “Flour and black leather don't mix.” 

“Too bad.” The spoon went flying back again. “Either you lend a hand, or I tell the Captain about the incident with the smashed copier yesterday.”

Rosa gave her a flat look. 

“...Yeah, okay, I told him this morning,” Amy admitted. “That might not have been my strongest card to lead with. Come ooooon, Diaz!”

Rosa regarded the spoon in her hand like some people would regard a lit bomb. (Those people did not include Rosa, who tended to hold a lit bomb like some people held delicious brownies.) “You don't want me helping,” she pointed out.

“Why not?”

“Risk of sabotage. I'm here for the disaster.” 

Amy made a dismissive noise. “You're reaching. You're a disaster connoisseur. You'd never sabotage the hamantaschen, because you know and I both know that the disaster's most satisfying when it develops naturally out of the personal foibles of the individuals involved, without any kind of nudge on the scales – NOT,” she added, sharply, seeing the grin spreading back over Rosa's face, “that this hamantaschen are going to be a disaster. Because they are actually going to be PERFECT.”

“Uh-huh,” said Rosa. “OK, Santiago, you got me. Pass me the bowl. I'll stir the stupid dough.”

Smug in her triumph, Amy passed Rosa the bowl, then turned back to the cluster of jams on the counter – and let out a cry of dismay. “Jalapeno jelly? Why do we even HAVE that jam? Where's the strawberry?!”

Utterly content, Rosa stuck the wooden spoon into the bowl and wobbled it experimentally. This was absolutely going to be worth the dry cleaning bill. 

[](http://s1305.photobucket.com/user/ryfkah/media/hamantaschendisaster_zps8e904b3b.jpg.html)


End file.
